


An Uneasy Alliance

by London_Halcyon



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Halcyon/pseuds/London_Halcyon
Summary: A night elf, a worgen, and a blood elf go for a walk in Ashenvale... It sounds like the setup for a bad joke, but things become serious when Alliance and Horde must work together to stop the Twilight's Hammer from attempting to end the world yet again. And when past ghosts creep into present prejudices, that is a mission much easier said than done.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spur of the moment story I began to work on for a while and then quit. I'm not sure if I should finish it, but let me know what you think. My opinion may be swayed one way or the other.

Sangre brought her rifle to her shoulder as the fire roc screeched at her, and she was instantly annoyed. She was annoyed that she couldn't walk two steps without the local wildlife trying to eat her. She was annoyed that there was the harsh metal of a gun in her hand instead of the friendly wood of a bow. She was annoyed that she was still in Tanaris.           

_Bang!_ The shot went off, and the fire roc backpedaled its smoldering red wings as it fought to stay aloft as the impact stunned it. Windfire took her cue even before Sangre’s roar of command had left her lips, and there was a blur of orange as the dragonhawk pierced the roc with her sharp beak. The roc screeched again in anger, but it was nearly drowned out by two quick, shrill whistles from Sangre. With a howl and a hiss, a hyena and a basilisk charged onto the scene with jaws snapping and claws scratching at the roc. _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ She let off three more shots, and the bird’s flapping faltered. With another roar, she gave the final command to Windfire: kill. The dragonhawk screeched, a louder, harsher, more blood-chilling sound than the vulture could ever make, and a blur of movement sent the fiery lump of feathers crashing to the ground, dead.           

The basilisk and hyena trudged back off into the desert, immediately disinterested with the unmoving corpse, and Windfire returned to Sangre’s side with happy, cooing noises. Sangre lowered her rifle with a sigh. She needed to get out of Tanaris.           

The fact that it was a desert region was bad enough—it was scorching hot and sand got everywhere—and working with goblins hadn't exactly made it easier. They had sent her hunting multiple times. Sure, she was a hunter, but that didn't mean she enjoyed tedious work. They had sent her to fight pirates. She _hated_ pirates, especially after Thousand Needles. And they sent her to exterminate bugs. No words there. Not to mention she had gotten tricked by a troll. She had seen it coming, but it had still put her in a bad mood.           

True, there had been some upsides. Messing with the ogres had been fun, something that had pleasantly resulted in her assisting her people on an archeological excavation. By the Sunwell, she missed her own people (at least she always did until she remembered what power-hungry, snobbish liars they were, but still). And she would admit that that final duel with Kelsey Steelspark had really increased her respect for Megs Dreadshredder. Now _that_ was a goblin she didn't mind having on her side, no matter how deviously underhanded she was.           

But it was time to move on. Anlas had convinced her to meet him in Winterspring, and she didn't want to keep him waiting. They had already been apart for too long.            

Grabbing onto the saddle, she hauled herself back onto the hawkstrider’s back and squeezed her legs against its sides. Giving a squawk of acknowledgement, the purple feathered mount lurched forward to continue its sprint over the sand toward the walled desert village of Gadgetzan.           

She almost sighed in relief when it took her through the entrance to the sandstone village. The sight of the numerous goblins and gnomes squabbling with each other while the dwarves pretended not to notice—or didn't notice—was almost comforting. A kaldorei druid glanced her way from where she stood in conversation with a gnome chef, but the glance was only brief. Sangre pretended not to notice. A disturbance of the already fragile peace in the village was more likely to end in both their deaths than a victory for the Horde or Alliance. She had been learning to pick her battles because, if anything had become clear since she had left Silvermoon, war is complicated.           

With a quick stop at the local inn, she sold some old pieces of armor to the innkeeper to lighten her bag for the trip. She wished she could sell the monstrosity that was her gun as well. She missed her bow, but she had needed the money; after evaluating all her items, as much as she hated to admit it, it was obvious the gun was the more powerful weapon. The bow had had to go. An elf hunter without a bow—she was a joke.           

It was only temporary, she reminded herself. The right one would come along. She just had to be patient.           

Almost ready to leave, she dismissed both her mount and Windfire. She would summon her hawkstrider again after her flight. She had never been to Winterspring before, so Anlas had told her to take a flight to Moonglade then ride east until she reached the inn at Everlook. It was a lot of ground to cover, so a mount would be useful. Windfire, on the other hand, she would not recall for a while. It probably wasn't the best idea to bring a dragonkin to a frozen land. Her other pets would handle the cold better.           

She passed her handful of newly earned coins to the bored-looking orc flight master, and he proceeded to call a windrider over for her. She had barely settled onto the lion-bat-scorpion creature’s back before it launched itself into the air, sending butterflies through her stomach, and glided out over the crystal waters of the ocean. Moonglade, here she’d come.           

Last she'd heard from Anlas, he was making some gold jewelcrafting in Orgrimmar. That alone was a long way from Winterspring, and she was even farther south. He would likely make it to Everlook before her, unless he waited for her in Moonglade. This was going to be one long flight.           

Sitting back in the saddle, she narrowed her eyes lethargically and listened to the sounds around her: the wind in her ears, the occasional flapping of the windrider’s wings, the cry of a gull, and the ocean crashing against the rocky cliffs. There would be nothing to do for the next few hours except to relax.           

Until the explosion of fire from an anti-aircraft cannon blasted her eardrums, that is.


	2. Chapter 2

Cieri’s feet made no noise as she crept through the undergrowth. She melded with the shadows around her, invisible as she moved. The leaves didn't stir as she passed. The forest hid her, protected her. It would not give her away. She was one with nature. One with the night.           

She felt very much at home in the darkness of Ashenvale, the ancestral forests of her people. Life swirled around her—in the thick trees that shielded the ground from the sun, in the moist soil that allowed them to flourish, in the stags and wolves that kept the circle of life in motion, and in the faintly glowing moths and wisps that lit the way. With no sound but the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, it was easy to pretend that these forests were truly hers and not something she had to fight the Horde for or chase doom-bringers through.           

A nearby ghostpaw let out a low growl as it sniffed the air, catching her scent. Instinctively, she gripped the handles of the two daggers on her hips, but she didn't draw them. She didn't even stop moving, confident that the ghostpaw wouldn't see or hear her. Sure enough, it shook its head and moved on.           

All kaldorei could shadowmeld—blend with the darkness around them to hide in plain sight—but most had to hold perfectly still to avoid being seen. Her skills, on the other hand, made her an exception. While most of her people preferred to train as druids or huntresses, she had decided to go rouge and train in the ways of stealth and melee. Magic was complicated, and there was something so simple about a dagger. Although this meant she could never join the Cenarion Circle, she wasn't planning on abandoning her service to nature. In fact, as she walked among the wildlife unseen, she had never felt closer to it.           

As she watched the ghostpaw stalk away, the creature abruptly reminded her that she should be getting back to Ebenos. She had done her rounds and had found no trace of anything unusual, which was unfortunate. It would seem that they had lost the trail of the fleeing Twilight’s Hammer members. Hopefully that meant they had scattered and wouldn't be regrouping for a while, but luck had never been on her or any of her allies’ sides.           

Reluctantly, she turned around to head back the way she had come, when the piercing roar of a wounded animal stopped her in her tracks. That had sounded like a lion, and it had sounded close. _Ebenos?_   She glanced wildly around for the source, but she couldn't see anything. And she could’ve sworn it had come from above her.           

Then it clicked. _Windrider._            

No sooner had her thoughts jumped to the possibility than a huge tawny creature crashed through the treetops to slam into the ground with a sickening thud. It bounced once and rolled to smack to a stop against a solid tree, not twenty yards from where she stood. Blood coated the windrider’s belly, its wings were shredded, and its neck and limbs were bent at impossible angles. It was dead beyond a doubt, possibly before it had even hit the ground.           

An empty saddle was pulled crooked across the poor mount’s back, and that's when she realized that something had fallen off it—something humanoid. And a windrider was a Horde flying mount.           

Staying stealthed, she cautiously crept towards a figure that lay on the ground between her and the dead windrider. The light of a nearby wisp danced on the scales of the figure’s mail armor, and her first thought as she approached was that it was human. That was wrong of course; humans were Alliance, but the limp figure didn't bear the hulking physique of many of the races of the Horde. The person was slender, even more so than she was. Cieri was slim, but muscle clearly defined her arms, legs, and stomach. This person on the other hand was even more lithe, and feminine curves were visible beneath the sturdy armor. A mail helmet rested by a lone rifle where it had most likely been knocked off in the crash, revealing a ponytail of long brown hair that spilled from the figure’s head.           

Cieri knelt by the unconscious female. Her skin was pale like that of a human or a dwarf, although by now it was obvious that she was neither. The slender figure and the long ears were dead-giveaways. She was an elf, but not kaldorei. She was sin’dorei—Cieri’s polar opposite and enemy. A sin’dorei combatant had crashed into Ashenvale.           

Cieri let the shadows fall off her skin as she moved her fingers to the female’s lips and neck to check for breath and pulse, and she found both. The female was still alive, but that made things all the more complicated.           

A twig snapped behind her, and Cieri whipped her head around to see a large cat step from the shadows next to her. She relaxed upon seeing the familiar shape; the noise had been intentional to get her attention. The cat could've passed for a male lion with its short brown fur and shaggy darker brown mane, but its glowing green eyes and yellow markings on its shoulders gave it away as something other.           

Ebenos’s rough voice growled out of the cat’s mouth. “You alright?”           

“I’m not the one that fell out of the sky.”           

The druid grunted her acknowledgement. “I saw it fly overhead, dripping blood the whole way. No doubt the whole forest heard it impact.”         

So the windrider had been attacked. This should've seemed logical, except… “I didn't hear any signs of combat. You?”           

“No. It must've flown for a while.”           

“From the west?”         

“No, southeast.”           

Not the direction of nearby Alliance troops or, from what they knew, the Twilight’s Hammer. Cieri looked back down at the sin’dorei female. If the smaller elf knew anything, then she wasn't capable of sharing it. Little skin was exposed, but what was was badly scratched up. And there was no telling if she was bleeding inside her armor or internally. She was alive for now, but that may have not been to last. “Can you heal her?”           

It was difficult to read the faces of animals, but she was fairly certain Ebenos was giving her a disbelieving look. “She's a blood elf,” the druid said as if she didn't already know.         

“She could know something that could help us.”           

Ebenos shook her mane agitatedly. “Do you see her armor? Her skill is likely leagues above ours—probably both of ours combined. Even if we could keep her subdued when she gets better…if she gets better, there's no guarantee she’ll talk.”           

“She will if it's about the Twilight’s Hammer,” Cieri pointed out. Ebenos only let out a low, frustrated growl in response. Cieri knew her companion wasn't trying to be condescending; Ebenos was just as conflicted about the situation as she was, so perhaps it wasn't completely fair when she said, “If that's how you feel, then we're left with two options: we either leave her here to slowly bleed to death or be mauled by a ghostpaw, or one of us puts her out of her misery.” _And that person won't be me,_ she didn't add aloud. She didn't have to.           

Magic clouded her sight of her companion, and then a female worgen stood in the cat’s place. In her normal form, Ebenos was of similar stature to Cieri with her body being slim yet defined with muscle, but besides that they were both humanoids, that's where the similarities stopped. Ebenos’s entire body was coated in gray-brown fur, and her head bore remarkable similarity to that of a wolf’s with her long ears, toothy snout, and wild mane of black-brown hair. She well surpassed Cieri in height, approaching eight feet while Cieri approached seven. Her hands and feet were abnormally large and clawed, and her legs were bent oddly for the purpose of running on all fours. She was a predator, but as her human eyes showed, one with humanity both inside and out.           

“This is a bad idea,” Ebenos muttered in her gravelly voice, but she knelt by the sin’dorei female without further argument. White energy glowed in her large hands before jumping to envelop the small elf. The female barely stirred, moving her head ever so slightly, and Ebenos’s snout wrinkled in the worgen impression of a frown. Now green energy glowed in her hands, brilliantly enough that Cieri could feel its revitalizing powers from where she knelt, but this time the elf remained still. “I’m not a healer,” Ebenos murmured, as if to herself.           

“Eben?”           

Ebenos shook her mane, the same gesture she had made in cat form. “I’ve temporarily secured her spirit in her body, and I’ve done a patch on any wounds that may be life-threatening—the best any battle healer can do with what I’ve got, but she needs proper treatment. And a proper healer.” Both of which were scarce out where they were.           

“You used a revival spell? Why hasn't she woken up?”           

“I hope it's because she hit her head hard enough. But that could come with its own set of complications. Regardless, I need to get her armor off. Grab her equipment—what you can find intact anyway—and call your saber. We're heading back.”           

Had any other outsider talked to Cieri like that, she would've laughed in their face, especially if they were a member of a short-lived race like Ebenos was. But Ebenos was a special case. The worgen had saved her life after all.           

Cieri scrambled to collect the gun, helm, and a bag she found by the windrider before calling over her dawnsaber. Ebenos called over her mountain horse, and together she and Cieri worked to secure the seemingly fragile elf in its back with Ebenos in the saddle behind her. The worgen looked a little ridiculous on the back of a horse, and it was not a position Cieri saw her in often; she could easily run as fast as any mount, but speed wasn't the issue at that moment.         

They rode carefully, with Cieri guiding them out of the way of ghostpaws and other hostile wildlife while Ebenos focused on holding her charge in place. They made it to the cave without incident. Well hidden by underbrush, their shelter—really nothing more than a shallow dent in a hillside—was invisible unless you walked straight up to the thick bushes and peered through them. They had stumbled across it completely by accident, and it had been serving as their base of operations while they scouted the surrounding area.           

A small part of Cieri wondered at the wisdom of bringing a member of the Horde into their small shelter, but she was quick to dismiss the thought. The female was injured and alone. They couldn’t leave her to die without knowing the whole story first.           

Inside the cave, Ebenos carefully laid the elf on the ground and stripped her of her armor, reducing her to her undergarments. Her small body was cut and bruised, but there appeared to be no major external wounds. There were scars though, a sign of an experienced soldier. She had seen many battles to get where she was now.           

While Ebenos got to work, Cieri inspected the armor. It was high-quality and made of some light, iridescent material, like that of scale. And it wasn’t elven. She tapped one of her daggers against it. _Clang!_ Even the light tap sent uncomfortable vibrations up her arm. It was tougher than anything she had seen before. The cowardly part of her was glad the sin’dorei woman was no longer wearing it. This was a warrior she didn’t want to go up against.           

Ebenos paused with a musing growl. “Her injuries don’t appear serious, and I can’t feel any broken bones. That must be some tough armor.”           

“It appears so.”         

“There’s nothing more I can do for her. We’ll have to wait and see.”         

“Thank you.”           

Ebenos’s snout wrinkled. “Don’t thank me. Not yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Ebenos’s attitude, she could see in Cieri’s face that the girl knew she wouldn’t have left the blood elf to die, even without prompting. And she was right. Ebenos was not without a moral compass, and she would admit that she was curious as to what had happened. Still, every time she looked at the Horde member—at her enemy—she saw Sylvanas Windrunner, and it made her want to bare her teeth. She knew it wasn’t the same, but the blood elf bore remarkable similarity to the Banshee Queen. And when she thought of the Banshee Queen, she thought of Liam. She didn’t like thinking of Liam.           

Cieri leaned back against the wall from where she sat with a sense of comfort on the ground. Her pale purple skin and deep violet hair nearly melded with the shadows in the cave. No matter where they went in Ashenvale—not matter how hostile the situation—the night elf always gave off the impression that she belonged right there and nowhere else. Ebenos wished she could feel like that.           

Cieri studied her with brilliant silver eyes. “You should change back,” she suggested. “You’ll seem like less of a threat.”           

Ebenos didn’t like that idea. “I’d rather not.” She had mixed feelings about her worgen form, but the last thing she wanted to feel right now was vulnerable.           

“Think about how a wounded animal acts. It is more likely to attack if it feels threatened. And unfortunately your appearance is a little…terrifying.”         

Now Ebenos did bare her teeth. She didn’t need to be reminded how she looked. So, partially because of this reminder, she changed back.           

It always felt like taking off a heavy coat. Her snout receded, her hands and feet grew smaller, her fur vanished, and her armor grew heavier. She shrank until she was a good foot and a half shorter than Cieri, and her pale skin was now the same color as the blood elf’s. She flexed her small fingers. She was human again. It was both a relief and a vulnerability.           

Cieri smiled down at her.           

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ebenos complained, her voice smooth and deep. Her Gilnean accent was audible even to her own ears.           

“I’m sorry, but I forgot how cute humans can be.”           

“Say that again and you’ll see just how cute I am.” There was little malice behind the threat, and Cieri’s trademark mischievous grin only widened in response.           

Ebenos would never admit it aloud, but she enjoyed the young elf’s company. Of course, she owed everything to the night elves—first her humanity and then her life. When the curse had spread through Gilneas, it had been the night elves, the original worgen, that had helped the afflicted gain control of the beast side of their nature and obtain the ability to change forms at will. When the Horde overtook Gilneas shortly after, the night elves rescued her people and gave them refuge in Darnassus. Her home was gone, but because of them, she and her people had a safe place to go to.           

But while the relationship between the night elves and worgen was one of mutual understanding, her relationship with Cieri went beyond that. She got the sense Cieri respected her, even looked up to her, which she knew was something rare and to be treasured. The elves were a reclusive lot. They maintained closer ties with nature and each other than with the rest of the world, and this was largely because of their long lifespans. They lived hundreds, sometimes thousands of years, when previously they had been immortal. Cieri specifically was probably just over a century old, although she looked like a teenager in human years. In terms of maturity, this likely was the case.           

When a person lived that long, Ebenos could understand why the race looked down on others that had such a narrow window of time to view the world. Short-lived species just weren’t capable of comprehending what they knew.         

That didn’t mean age always equaled experience. Cieri had learned that early on, and Ebenos had been there to witness it.           

Ebenos had been assisting the Sentinels in Ashenvale for a while—so long that she had been considering leaving it to join the Alliance troops further south. Besides helping to drive back the Horde offensive, she had been serving as a messenger by using her worgen abilities to swiftly run between bases. She had been delivering a message to one of the western bases, away from the thick of the fighting, when she had met Cieri. The young night elf had arrived at the base fresh out of Teldrassil, her combat experience limited to training and a few skirmishes with angry spirits and corrupted beings. There was no easy introduction to the evil of the world, and unfortunately it had sought the girl out.           

A single, high-level Horde warrior had infiltrated the base and began to slaughter everyone inside it. There was no fighting him. Huntresses fell at a few quick jabs of his blade, and realizing their imminent defeat and death, most of the night elves fled to the trees. Ebenos took cover behind one of the anti-aircraft weapons, and it was from there that she saw Cieri tumble over backwards into the nearby river. It had been a simple slip of a foot made by someone that never took a wrong step, and it had been the miracle that had saved her life.           

Temporarily. The fall had stunned her, and she had begun to drown before Ebenos dove in after. She managed to drag the girl out of the water alive and unhurt a little ways downstream and found a place where they could wait out the assault for a few hours.           

There was no strategic advantage to this kind of attack. Had the lone warrior continued to attack them indefinitely, the night elves would have called their most skilled warriors in response, and the fight would’ve evened out with no victory for either side. There was no glory and no honor, only amusement. He would leave when he got bored. It was sickening. And she knew some Alliance members did it too.           

Traumatized by the whole thing, the poor elf had begun to cry. Ebenos wasn’t much good with tears, but she had done her best to comfort the girl until they were able to return to the base. The casualties had surprisingly been minimal, and things were able to return to as normal as they could be. When Ebenos had accepted the assignment to deal with local Twilight’s Hammer members, Cieri had volunteered to go with her.           

So she was stuck with the elf, but she certainly didn’t mind. It was nice to know someone that didn’t draw a sword or run away screaming when they saw her other form. She felt as if she could even call Cieri a friend.           

Although that came with its own set of complications.           

“Your ears are twitching,” the elf told her.           

“They are not,” she protested a little too quickly. She restrained herself before she could reach up to touch them.           

“They would be. Are you thinking about Gilneas?”           

“In a sense. I was mostly thinking about you.”           

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Cieri said gently, reading her mind. “I chose to come with you. Let me deal with the consequences.”           

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”           

Cieri shook her head. “There’s no reason to dwell on this right now.”           

“Fine,” Ebenos sighed. “You’re right.”           

But it was difficult not to. Ebenos had seen too many of her friends die—first by feral worgen, then by waves of undead, then by corrupted spirits, and then by ranks of orcs. No one seemed to last long in this war, and it was becoming hard to bear. She didn’t want to lose anyone else that she cared about, so she swore that she would fight her hardest to make sure that she never lost anyone ever again. And that’s what she was going to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Sangre hurt everywhere. Her entire body ached, and her head pounded with the ferocity of a hammer striking an anvil. She felt like she had gotten into a fistfight with an orc and lost. Badly. She couldn’t remember. What had…?           

“She’s waking up,” a voice said. Female and heavily accented. And speaking Darnassian.           

A wave of panic spread from Sangre’s chest to her limbs, but she forced herself to keep her body still, her eyes closed, and her breathing steady. The fog on her brain thinned. She remembered now. Alliance forces had fired upon her windrider halfway to Moonglade. She had thought she had gotten away safely, and she had been too focused on putting as much distance between herself and the people shooting at her to land to inspect her mount. Huge mistake. The beast had dropped from the sky with no warning, crashing right into the heart of Ashenvale. She was in enemy territory.           

Okay, she had to collect information. She had to figure out what was going on. Where was she? She was…she was half-naked! Her armor was gone, leaving her in her undergarments, but she wasn’t bound. Nothing physical or magical tied her limbs together or held her in place. There was a blanket beneath her, and the ground was firm. Soil maybe? She smelled moisture and woody vegetation, and she nearly tensed upon hearing a howl in the distance. Was she outside?           

A second voice spoke, also female, and Darnassian flowed smoothly off her tongue. “Are you sure?”           

The first one responded, “She’s faking it.”           

Well, at least one of them wasn’t stupid. That could be a problem.           

Sangre opened her eyes and instantly winced. The light struck her head, blurring her vision and making the pounding worse. She had to blink for several long seconds before her sight cleared enough for her to take in her surroundings. The dim glow of a fire revealed that she was in a small cave, and the dark mouth of the shelter opened to the thick forest beyond. Two figures stood over her.           

The closest one, with her lithe yet muscular figure, pale purple skin, and long ears, was obviously kaldorei. She was young—barely into adulthood—but there was confidence and poise in the way she stood with her hands calmly resting on her two daggers. She wore no armor, only simple red clothes accented with black, and a matching red butterfly tattoo spread its wings out over her face. While it wasn’t uncommon for kaldorei females to have such markings, Sangre got the distinct impression that this girl wasn’t a typical Sentinel or huntress. She gave off no threat though and simply peered curiously at Sangre with her silver eyes.           

This was in sharp contrast to the distrustful expression on her companion’s face. The other female stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed in a defensive gesture. It took a moment for Sangre to identify her pale skin, small ears, and dull eyes as those of a human. She hadn’t seen many humans outside of brief encounters in the heat of battle, and the sight of this one was a bit odd. The woman was perhaps shorter than Sangre, yet she had a burly look to her. She wasn’t nearly as stout as a dwarf, but she still looked like someone you wouldn’t want to take a hit from. Strangely enough, her leather armor consisted of a seemingly random assortment of pieces from different sets—beige tunic, blue shoulder pads and gloves, gray leggings, green boots, and so on. There was also a long, thin metal staff on her back and a rose in her red-brown hair.           

In spite of her odd appearance, something told Sangre that this was the one to watch out for. She looked about similar to Sangre in age, meaning she was on the younger side of maturity (What was that in human years? Twenty? Thirty?), but the hardness in her eyes and the set of her jaw gave an older edge to her appearance. This was someone that had seen the worst combat had to offer. Sangre knew because she occasionally saw that same look in the mirror.           

The human stepped closer, shooing the kaldorei girl back. “Can you speak Darnassian?” she asked. “Common?”           

“Darnassian,” Sangre croaked weakly. She did know some Common—it was useful when she struggled to communicate with the tauren or the goblins—but she didn’t speak it nearly as fluently as she did Darnassian. There was that, and there was the fact that she never liked to reveal all her cards at once.           

The human crouched down beside her and used one hand to support her back as she carefully helped her to sit up. Pressing a vial to Sangre’s lips, she said with surprising gentleness, “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”           

Sangre did. The rest of the fog suddenly lifted, and the pain in her head and body faded. She still felt tired and sore, but at least her head no longer felt like it was going to explode.           

“Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”           

“No. It’s better now.”           

“How about this then: Do you remember who you are?”           

And now the interrogation session began. They wanted information? She would give them information. “My name is Sangre, sin’dorei hunter and Horde fighter. I was flying north to meet my brother, who I haven’t seen in years, when Alliance forces decided to use me for target practice.” She made sure her sardonic tone was clear.           

The human pursed her lips, but the kaldorei girl grinned. “I think she’s fine,” the girl laughed.         

“Were you traveling alone?” the human asked.           

“I was, but I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t,” Sangre answered honestly.         

“Leave her alone, Ebenos,” the kaldorei girl insisted gently. “She’s not going to tell you anything.”         

“I want to know if we’re going to be attacked,” the human called Ebenos responded darkly.           

“You can relax, human,” Sangre said calmly. “My brother and I were planning to offer our assistance to Winterspring. The war doesn’t exist there.”         

“And why should I trust a blood elf?”           

Sangre was not offended. “True enough.”           

Scowling, Ebenos stalked to the other side of the cave.           

The kaldorei girl leaned against the wall, clearly at ease. “You wouldn’t have happened to see any members of the Twilight’s Hammer before you crashed, would you have?” she asked Sangre.           

Sangre raised her eyebrows. “No. Was I supposed to?”           

“They got up to something on Darkshore. We stopped it in time, but most of them escaped. We were trying to track them down when we found you.”           

The Twilight’s Hammer was here too? That wasn’t good. She hated those guys. They were always trying to end the world.           

That also revealed another thing. She had been rescued by a couple of scouts that weren’t even focused on dealing with the Horde. They had healed her and had shown little interest in getting Horde intel. So if she wasn’t a prisoner, then what was she? “Then what happens now?” she asked.           

The kaldorei girl shrugged. “We honestly don’t know.”           

“Cieri!” Ebenos snapped.         

“It’s the truth. She’s not our priority right now. Our priority is making sure a group of cultists doesn’t try to blow up the world again. There’s no tactical advantage in trying to kill us.”           

Sangre nodded in sincere agreement. “Neither are you my priority. I don’t go around killing every Alliance soldier I see.”           

Ebenos looked like she wanted to protest, but Cieri once again addressed Sangre. “You can leave anytime you like. We’ll do nothing to stop you. Or, if you want, you can stick with us until we return to one of the outposts. There we could grant you access to a hippogryph.”           

“Your people won’t shoot me on sight?” Sangre questioned, doubtful.           

Cieri shook her head. “Our races may not get along, but the kaldorei are an honorable people. We detest unnecessary killing.”           

That wasn’t exactly the problem. Sangre, contrary to expectation, actually didn’t despise the kaldorei. She wouldn’t have said so back in Silvermoon, but the war had changed her perspective. She had seen just as many cowardly and underhanded kaldorei as she had noble and compassionate ones, and she had fought alongside just as many as she had killed. It was because of this that she had come to speak Darnassian so well. The ones she had fought alongside, however, had usually belonged to the Cenarion Circle, so she wasn’t sure about the wisdom of a high-ranking Horde _and_ sin’dorei combatant such as herself walking into a kaldorei military base. She mostly trusted them not to kill her, but she didn’t trust them not to capture her and press her for information. It’s what she would’ve done.           

“Can I talk to you?” Ebenos hissed to her companion. Cieri nodded and followed her outside, from where their unintelligible words drifted from just outside the mouth of the cave.        

_Well, they make an interesting pair,_ Sangre noted. She had never seen an elf and a human interact in such a way.           

In their absence, she took the time to survey their small shelter. There wasn’t much in way of supplies. Scouts predictably traveled light. Most notable was that her armor, gun, and bag lay nearby. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found all her stuff to be accounted for and intact and her armor to be only lightly dented. She found herself relaxing as she equipped her armor, not having noticed until then how vulnerable she had felt without it.           

A sharp gasp from outside suddenly caused her to tense again. A gentle murmur followed it, and then Cieri returned shortly after, alone. “She’s not feeling well,” the girl explained calmly.           

“Indigestion?” Sangre half-joked.           

“Something like that,” Cieri responded with humor. She sat down on the firm ground, somehow giving off the impression that she was sitting down on a luxurious cushion. “You know,” she said good-naturedly, “I’ve never met one of the sin’dorei before.”           

“Oh? And what did you expect?”           

“I expected you to be taller.”         

Sangre laughed. “They all do.” _She’s like Anlas._ _Daggers, jokes, and all._            

So here was the charismatic rouge. What was the other one? Ebenos obviously relied on magic-based attacks, but it wasn’t clear what she specialized in. Was she a warlock? No, definitely not. A mage? Not likely. A priest? That didn’t quite fit either.           

“Your friend is quite an enigma,” she told Cieri.           

Cieri smiled. “Only in appearance. She’s a good person. Pure of heart.”           

“How did you two meet?”           

For the first time, the young elf took on a sheepish expression. “She saved my life. I fell in a river and hit my head. Ebenos dove in after me and dragged me out. I suppose that’s something you and I have in common.”           

Sangre felt a flash of surprise at the realization that Ebenos was the one that had saved her. And she was supposed to believe that the human wasn’t an enigma? There was definitely more to her than met the eye.           

As Cieri focused on cleaning her daggers, Sangre debated a course of action. Simply grabbing her stuff and walking out of Ashenvale without a flying mount wasn’t…well, simple. Not only did she have no idea where she was, she would be walking blindly through hostile territory. She could ask for a map. But no, they would never give her something that had the locations of Alliance outposts on it. She could ask for directions. That was a safer bet, although it would be a long walk to Horde territory and an even longer walk to a flight master. Or did she dare to take them up on the offer of a hippogryph? There was no good choice in this situation.           

Ebenos stumbled back in after a while. Her face was pale and tired, as if she had been in pain for a long time. Cieri handed her a waterskin, which she quietly accepted and sat down to drink. She really did look ill.           

“Are you certain the Twilight’s Hammer is in the area?” Sangre asked now that both women were present.         

Cieri nodded.           

“Then you’ll need help to take them down. Allow me to offer my assistance.”           

Ebenos nearly choked on her water. “I’d rather you not.”         

“Do you have anyone else with you?”           

A beat of silence. These two needed a lesson in subtlety.           

“I’ll take that as a no.”           

“You’re not coming,” Ebenos said firmly.         

“You can’t stop me.”           

The human’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “You’re not going to fight us.”           

“No, but you’re not going to fight me,” Sangre stated. “Consider this my insurance policy.”         

“And just what does that mean?”           

“You need to stop the Twilight’s Hammer, and it so happens that I don’t feel like fighting my way out of the wilderness. I need a hippogryph out of here, and I need more than the word of some young rouge to guarantee access to a safe flight. No offense.”           

“None taken,” Cieri said.           

“If I help you, then your people will have to help me—if I can truly count on your honor. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”           

In a startling imitation of an animal, Ebenos bared her teeth. “I don’t like it. I’m familiar with the tricks of your kind, and don’t think for one second that I’ll let my guard down around you.”           

“I’ll be counting on it,” Sangre responded without losing her calm manner.           

The tricks of her kind? That was enlightening. What had the sin’dorei done to make her so upset? For most of Sangre’s _kind,_ it was the other way around. They had tried to have peace with the Alliance in the past, but many of the races, especially the humans, were unnecessarily discriminatory against her people. She had assumed Ebenos was no different, but now she was beginning to wonder if her hatred was more than that.           

Cieri murmured something in Common that sounded along the lines of, “Remember judgement,” and Ebenos abruptly calmed down. Moving to sit in the mouth of the cave, the young elf said in Darnassian to no one in particular, “I’ll take the first watch.”           

Ebenos stared at the ground, her eyes oddly distant. Sangre purposely laid down and put her back to her. It was an undeserved show of trust that screamed warning signs at her instincts, but a few moments later, she heard Ebenos lay down too. Just as predicted.           

“I don’t know what experience you’ve had with my people,” Sangre said to the wall, “but I’m not going to stab you in your sleep.” Which would’ve sounded more believable if she hadn’t been repeatedly stabbed in the back by members of her own race. And if she hadn’t pulled some nasty tricks of her own.           

“What if you were ordered to?” Ebenos’s voice asked after a long stretch of silence.         

“Don’t ask me to answer something you can’t answer yourself.”           

More silence. Then, “You really trust the night elves?”           

“I prefer not to use the word trust. I’ve only been around them enough to know that the actions of one do not represent the actions of an entire race. Tell me, is it the same with humans?”           

The silence continued to stretch on, and Ebenos didn’t speak again. It was a shame; Sangre liked her voice. It was a bit difficult to understand, but was pleasantly deep. It was the kind of voice that gave off the impression of thick woods, high mountains, and seaside cliffs. She didn’t know how this was so. It was almost…magical.           

When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of the forests of her home.


End file.
